


Canis Monstera

by ScullyLovesQueequeg



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Complete, Gen, Occult, monster story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyLovesQueequeg/pseuds/ScullyLovesQueequeg
Summary: Mulder doesn't like Scully's dog, Queequeg. He has his reasons, some more compelling than others.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 25





	Canis Monstera

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I want to give a HUGE thank you to Meg. This was a joint effort so, I really couldn't have done it if it wasn't for her. The picture that goes with the story was done by her, and you can check out her AO3 profile [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msrafterdark/pseuds/msrafterdark). If AO3 isn't showing the picture because I don't know how things work, you can find it [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/CBtpzy3jJhp/?igshid=tllxnvunlink7).
> 
> Secondly, I wanted to try my hand at something a little outside of my normal scope and I'm glad it worked out. I always liked the idea of Queequeg not being a normal dog.
> 
> This story was inspired by the works of H.P. Lovecraft, _The King In Yellow_ by Robert W. Chambers & [The Testimony of Trixie Glimmer Smith](https://digital-poppy.itch.io/trixie) by [Digital Poppy](https://itch.io/profile/digital-poppy).

He had given his partner a warning that he felt was self evident and clear: taking in the dog was a bad idea. Scully had not taken heed, instead choosing to move forward with the process. She insisted that she wanted to adopt him out of respect for Clyde Bruckman’s wishes. While that sense of duty and obligation was what had made their partnership work so well, it also caused the occasional clash between their opposing ideals at times. Mulder’s loyalty was to his own personal quest; Scully’s was to the FBI.

Mulder did not harbor any sort of positive sentiments towards her charge; in fact, it was fair to say he hated it. It was obviously in complete opposition to Scully, who was enamored of the small dog. She had taken to calling it Queequeg, and almost immediately, fell victim to its charm, or the little Mulder felt it possessed. It was most likely a purebred Pomeranian, adopted initially to keep its previous owner company, in lieu of the other support system the older woman lacked. In his experience, Mulder found dogs like that to be rather noisy and irksome.

The dog seemed to be of a mutual agreement regarding Mulder, having taken to chewing a pair of shoes that Mulder had the misfortune of leaving at Scully’s place. Twice, he caught the dog urinating in his shoes.

“Do you have to bring that thing with you when you go out?” Mulder once asked, after he had invited her out to lunch over the weekend.

“He’s my dog, Mulder. I hardly get time to spend with him during the week, so any little time I can spend on the weekend is good. Maybe you should consider getting yourself a pet,” Scully suggested, lifting the dog into her lap. Mulder found himself locking eyes with the creature, and for a moment, he got an overwhelming sense of dread and revulsion.

“I already have goldfish,” He answered, choosing to drop the subject.

Nothing more was said on the topic but the dread that he felt lingered all day, and did not ease up when he was alone.

That night, when Mulder was asleep, he had a dream. The dream was not hazy as dreams tend to be. It was solid and clear, and Mulder stared at the scene that sprawled before him—a city, made of stone and settled in a desert, with a rising shape in the sky, like an inverted pyramid. Figures stalked the streets of the city, as he wandered through but then, he heard a noise. He turned to investigate, slipping into a dark alley and following his gut until he happened upon a monstrous sight.

It was a dog, or a crude estimation as to what a dog was by an insane creator. It stood on four legs, and possessed an inwardly curling tail that wagged randomly. Its body was covered in eyes, neither human nor canine, though it best resembled that of a reptile, with a thin film every now and then covering it. It had random patches of orange fur, not unlike a certain dog he had come to hate.

“Queequeg?”

The creature turned it’s face to reveal a gaping maw that held many rows of teeth, and the entire thing made Mulder shiver. All of it’s eyes pivoted to stare at Mulder and he felt a wave of sickness overcome him.

It spoke in a voice that brought to mind nails against a chalkboard, but Mulder could not understand it. He slowly backed away.

“ _Carcosa has fallen_.” The creature said, and Mulder covered his ears, turning to run as his head throbbed.

And with that, Mulder awoke with a start. His pillow and sheets were soaked with perspiration, and the image of the creature was seared into his mind. To think of it caused Mulder’s head to throb. The slumber that he would return to was filled with anxiety and fear, and was not at all satisfying.

“I had a strange dream last night, Scully. It was about your dog. I had a dream your dog was some kind of demon creature and it spoke to me.” Mulder said, as he sat behind his desk. His appearance was unkempt and Scully frowned at the sight of him.

“Is that why you look so awful?” She asked, her tone uncharacteristically tender. She moved closer to him and began a visual examination of his features, noting that his jaw fluttered when his mouth was closed, perhaps from tension.

“Yes,” He said, standing and shaking his head. “The dream… it hurts to remember it, but it felt so real. I couldn’t even describe to you what I saw. It was awful. I absolutely hate your dog, Scully.”

Scully sighed, and gathered her things, puffing in exasperation over his perceived intolerance.

“You’re being unreasonable. It’s a dog, Mulder. Just that. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Scully said, finally straightening up to look at him. Mulder looked absolutely awful, and Scully felt a twinge of pity for him.

“Why not?” Mulder asked, watching her moving about and heading to the computer’s printer.

“Queequeg went missing last night. The front door was open and he was gone. I’m going to go look for him this afternoon.” Scully said, and Mulder scoffed.

“It’s probably a good thing.” Mulder mumbled. Scully paused and stared at him incredulously.

"I don't know what your problem with my dog is, but I want you to stop being so mean about it, Mulder."

He never brought it up again. A week went by; every night, the same dream happened. The city. The alley. The monster. _Carcosa has fallen._

The name Carcosa was not new to him. It took some old fashioned investigative work, but Mulder came to realize it was a name that'd he'd heard before. It came in whispers, when he had been in college. _Carcosa. The King In Yellow. A forbidden play. Devourer of cities, of worlds, of civilizations. The monster._

He had regarded it as fiction, until _The_ _Incident_. It was unclear how it happened, just that 4 people were all slain in the span of a week, and the culprit was a student just two doors over from Mulder. Mulder himself could have been victim number 5 had he not been with Phoebe. The student went on a rambling delineation about a king in yellow, a creature and a sign posted on the doors of those he was meant to sacrifice. Mulder's door had to be replaced. And yet, the last thing that was said by the student as he was escorted out of the dorms was,

" _Carcosa has fallen._ ”

The memory triggered a primal compulsion that caused him to leave, without a word to his partner who watched as he left, calling for him to return. He heard her not. He didn't hear anyone, his feet carrying him out of the building and out into the streets of Washington, D.C., like a being possessed by a need to fulfill, however inane it was.

The stale smell of books, dust and mold brought Mulder back to his senses, and he was surprised to find himself in a bookshop he had never been to before. The place was old—the wood used for the floors and the shelves were old and rotting, and reminded him of an ale house he had once visited that was dated to be in existence since the early 1200s. On the shelves in front of him, lay tomes, some in languages that hurt his eyes to read, and some in English so old that it largely resembled Latin. As he searched, an old woman came from around the bookshelf, and cleared her throat, causing Mulder to look over. Her hands, crooked and bent with age caused Mulder a brief glimmer of fear that quietly died down when she spoke.

“Maybe I can help you?”

“The king… in yellow…. do you have it?” Mulder asked, wringing his wrists impatiently.

“No. No one does. It’s forbidden. Like how the name Macbeth is in a theatre. The King in Yellow drives it’s readers mad, and it’s better if you can’t find it. The King sends his hound after those who try and read it.” The woman said, an undercurrent of fear causing her voice to shake. Mulder considered her words, and then proceeded to continue down the aisle, examining the shelves.

“Sir, I’m begging you… this quest of yours, it’s only going to end in death,” The woman said walking along the aisle and watching as Mulder went and selected a couple of books. He glanced over at her and managed to smirk, albeit not as confidently as he normally was.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” He said, taking the books to a corner to begin perusing them. The woman only sighed as she watched him walk away.

Minutes flew and melted into hours, all the while, a feeling of lingering discomfort stemming from being watched nibbled at the edges of his perception. Mulder was faintly aware of yet another presence when he heard the soft cough of the old woman. He glanced up and the feeling dissipated.

“I’m getting ready to close,” The woman said, with a frown. Mulder glanced about his person at the different books sprawled around him, all about the lost city of Carcosa and it’s king in yellow.

“Oh, uh, I’d like to buy these books,” Mulder said as he rose to his feet, once again towering over the older woman.

“I’m sorry, I can’t let you do that. Some things here, they’re not for sale. I don’t want to be responsible for you bringing this on yourself. You don’t have to believe in it, but I do, and that’s enough to give me a reason not to sell them to you,” She said, gathering the books up in her arms and carrying them with her to the backroom. Mulder followed her to the door, and waited for her to put the books away and come back out to him.

“Not even if I gave you double?”

“I’d be cursing you if that happened. I can’t give you those books. I’m really sorry. I hope you understand. Now, I’m closing up shop…”

Mulder nodded, and headed out the door, thinking about all that he had read.

_Carcosa. Where is it? Who is the king in yellow, and what does that have to do with Scully’s dog? I guess I’ll have to see what else I can dig up._

Mulder thought this to himself as he headed back towards the FBI building. He would have to explain to Scully and to Skinner about why he had left suddenly, and the thought alone was enough to put the fear of God in him.

As he walked, it was the absence of noise that got his attention at first, because it was _**quiet**_. It was not the kind of quiet that comes from the nighttime, when things wind down, and all is still except for the omnipresent sound of insects and cars. No, this silence was unnatural, as though all of nature held its breath, as if hiding from something. He had only heard a silence like this once before; the only time his father had taken him hunting. The local game was already sparse as it stood, but adding into the mix a pair of hunters, (one reluctant and the other experienced), made the whole area fall into a silence that was otherworldly in how it seemed to creep into his very soul.

Even his steps felt as if they were devoid of sound as he descended the stone steps and headed for his car. He had to pass an alley, and it was at that moment that he heard a loud, metal, clattering noise. Just hearing that seemed to inject the life of the city back into the area and Mulder was suddenly aware of the usual city noises. They started back up suddenly which made Mulder wonder if perhaps something was wrong with his hearing, given that noise started up so suddenly. The thought remained with him as he continued to walk towards the J. Edgar Hoover building.

He had little time to ponder over the nature of the noise as a new one (a sickening crunch) filled his ears. He winced in anticipation of pain that never came. The sound was not from him; it was from nearby and being that he was suddenly overwhelmed by an intense and almost obsessive desire to know what it was, he doubled back to the alley. Immediately, the stench of death was in the air. He was not sure how he had missed it before, but the smell nearly made him gag. It was mixed with the scent of garbage, and stupidly, Mulder ventured towards it. It was coming from deeper within the alley, which was dark, almost impossibly so. He heard a low growl, and there was a pair of red, glowing eyes that seemed to materialize from the darkness before another pair, and soon a dozen pairs of eyes stared at him. Mulder froze in his tracks as the veil of darkness rolled away like fog rolling over the sea.

“Oh fuck,” Mulder murmured, backing away from the alley, and stumbling over a garbage can in the process. It was there that the thing he was looking at revealed itself to him in full. It stood on four legs, had a curled tail and a muzzle. It vaguely resembled a dog but that was where the similarities ended. It’s body was covered with eyes that darted about ceaselessly, seeing everything and nothing. There was a gaping maw that Mulder looked into, but he noticed that the longer he looked at the creature, the less concrete or even comprehensible it became. The creature was a golden color, and it was this color that triggered his memory of the dream he had had several weeks ago.

“What are you?!” Mulder shouted, feeling his head beginning to throb again. The creature’s eyes swiveled to face him, as they did in the dream, and again, it merely said,

“ _Carcosa has fallen_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks goes to:
> 
> \- K, for the proofreading, initial feedback, being my sounding board and moral support  
> \- [Jen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msrheadcanon/pseuds/msrheadcanon) for encouraging me  
> \- [Chelsea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder) for the pep talks and encouragement  
> \- You for getting this far, because there is no MSR.


End file.
